Thursday, February 28, 2008

Her DIRTY secret is a laughing matter

Someone in my life is one obsessive-compulsive dude. Here are a few of his rules:
Rule 1 — Dry the inside of shower after each use.
Rule 2 — A soiled dish in the dishwasher is a mortal sin.
Rule 3 — Never. Ever. Touch the red paint of his vehicle.

Some of my favorite moments involve the man who will remain anonymous.
Like when he helped me move with "The Chariot." His first mistake was where he parked. OPPOSITE of the parking lot to avoid "cherries on the trees" he explained. He didn't know he was parking parallel to the Doggie Business Zone. VERY parallel. In fact, as he dismounted The Chariot, his foot landed in a Great Dane-sized pile of difficult labor.

To complicate matters more, he climbed into his truck bed, leaving a snail trail of earthy goo all over his red paint... paint that has never been compromised by finger sinful smudge.

My second favorite memory happened last summer, when I visited HIM on his vacation — one that involved grass fields and campers equipped with TVs (don't you dare call that camping!). Unfortunately, HE had picked the RV Park from hell.

My poor, adorable nephew looked so deflated to be spending the week at the dump. He did what any 7-year-old would do. He found some dirt. He dug some dirt. He poured the dirt on his legs. His arms. His head.

He was DIRT MAN, come to save us from the DUMP Monster, who lived in the park's closed pool (it was July!) a.k.a. breeding ground for the West Nile Virus.

I was proud. I was gleaming. I was chuckling. And I was elated DIRT MAN wasn't coming home with me in my car!

The man with a serious anxiety illness (who would be giving DIRT MAN a place to re-energize that night) was definitely not smiling. If the Chariot was spotless, HIS Fifthwheel was virginal. He was twitching. He was trying to talk, but he couldn't formulate English-sounding words.

"Looo, Loooo, Loooooo," HE stammered, as DIRT MAN found a wormy side kick and placed him safely in his pocket. When HE regained motor skills, sadly, Dirt Man was defeated by his Kryptonite — The Hose.

*******

Overreactions, freak outs and tantrums.

I asked HIS better half, "How do you deal with this?"

"That's easy. I laugh," she replied.

And if it's been awhile since she's had a good tehee, she might even touch the red paint.

"Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most."

Yesterday, at the sink, I grabbed the toothpaste instead of the hand soap. I was mid-squeeze when the brain alarm sounded. It sounded like this: WHAT IN TARNATION ARRRRE YOU DOING?! Today, I went to the copy machine. Hit copy. Waited until the clunking ceased. And then I walked away. Clutching oxygen in my claw. I sat down. Time passed. A lot of time. There's more. I used my soup spoon to swirl my coffee cocktail during a business lunch. I have tripped more times in the past two days than my acrobatic toddler years. I burn what I cook. I pace when I sleep. I think when I read. I ramble when I write. I am Unproductive. Fed up. Sad. A ball of emptiness, being paddled across job and home. I am completely, totally, absolutely DONE WITH WINTER!

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

"Make that two!"


As I hastily perused the menu, nearly everything looked appetizing.

But after tantalizing myself with the idea of sampling it all, I chose the one thing I really wanted and closed the list of available options.

Steak. My favorite. No more menu-searching necessary.

I was content enough with my decision to instead turn my gaze to my date but although he'd also chosen his meal, his eyes weren't on me.

They were on her.

You know, the girl who wasn't me.
The girl who looked as though she was using her revealing outfit as the perfect place setting for jealousy.


"What are you getting?" I asked.

"The steak," he replied. "It's the only thing that looks good to me."

"So then what took you so long to decide?"

"I was just looking I guess... but I knew what I wanted the whole time."



And just like that... I was thinking only of dessert.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Get on your knees ladies!


"In a Leap year there is that famous one day every four years when the calendar indicates that there is a 29th of February. The tradition which allows a woman to propose marriage to a man is observed in most cultures and if you are raring to ask your man to marry then this is the best time to ask those words."

Sarah, I think this little tradition seems very timely for you and your current "situation."

You could simply put the ring on C's finger and live happily ever after.

Although perhaps the fairytale isn't as sweet if the "PoJo Princess" rides in on her MacBook Pro and asks her Knight in a Shining Polo for his hand in marriage via her very public blog.

Either way, February 29th marks a moment in time where the traditional rules can be thrown out the window and women can finally be in charge of their futures and the fate of their happily ever after-all.

Judging by the looks of things recently, we've got a start on equal pay and we may even be ready for a woman president...

But are we prepared for such an unconventional twist on the typical marriage proposal?

Hey You, Anonymity Muscles


It is time for a little chat.

Yesterday's comments on the blog were a little hurtful and honestly, I feel dismayed, disappointed and discouraged.

Is it unpopular to be the girl with a romantic side? Are people's views of true love so jaded that my happiness is punishable by persecution?

I was deemed pathetic, a real snooze and a fool for stating the truth about my relationship: I'm waiting for C. to propose to me because he is everything I've always wanted.

As a result, you attacked me. And you defended me.

So now, I want to know. Does everyone think that a couple should know at the exact instant that they should be married?

Is there some moment when a fairy glides through the room and drops her magic potion like a crop duster on two lovers who turn and declare: "I want to marry you" in unison.

I've been accused of living in a Mother Goose tale one moment and being Miss Piggy hot for Kermit the next. How can I be both?

Monday, February 25, 2008

I'm fat and old at 25

... and Maxim Magazine told me so.
===================================
Just as I was preparing for my shower, there it was.

Staring me right in the face, was 120 pages of all the reasons I'm not good enough.

I tried to avert my gaze so that I wouldn't be starring the tiny twenty-something in the face.

But then, as always... I had to keep looking.

As if her scantily clad picture on the cover wasn't enough... I had to peak inside as well to curb my masochism.

Perfect hair.
Perfect skin.
Perfect body.

I flicked on the bathroom light and scrutinized myself in the mirror.
Pimple (again) and my hair looked flat, less shiny and a lot less blond than I remembered it.

I tried to console myself with the usual reminder that... no one is perfect and Photoshop can do amazing things.

But that realization isn't always enough to prevent the comparison of Real-life-me to Celeb-Her.

Because while I emerged from that shower clean and pretty... she still had me beat with "perfection."

Friday, February 22, 2008

What's the hold up?

This question came from anon.

Diary entry 3/11/07 might be able to explain better:
C. admits he's got some growing up to do before he's ready. Finally. The truth. So I am an idiot basically. Why didn't I know what I know now? Is this a wall or a hurdle? I dunno. But I feel sick.
****
Love is patient.
Sarah is not.
Sarah HAS HAD to be patient. Ugh! That's such an ugly word. PAY-CHENT. You have to grit your back teeth and almost spit to finish pronouncing it. Chent.
I am not a "waiter." I don't handle dentist appointments well, and usually Dr. Chris is only running 15 minutes behind. C. is 365 days behind! I feel like I am groveling. A lowly beggar with a mouth of dirt.


Well when life gives you dirt, make dirt cake. It's delicious. Really. I made it once, complete with gummy worms, and everyone loved it.

Maybe you could feed it to your man, if he's made you wait, to remind him where he'll end up if he doesn't propose to you soon :-) You could serve it with a side of tombstone! OH MY GOD! Here it is!
Talk about a HINT.

Meanwhile, I wait, for my one, my only one, to come to his senses. He's a hard one. He's got his reasons. But he ain't getting younger! He'll learn. His prison is walking through this world all alone. (yes, I'm singing to you).



Have you ever waited for the one you loved?





Thursday, February 21, 2008

Write, Rant, Rave — and get over it!

Dear Diary,
12/4/04 — It's 10:30 p.m., I am alone. Yesterday I was alone. Tuesday — alone until 11:30, but I went to sleep before J. and I could spend any time together. Monday I spent alone. Maybe this weekend will be better. It won't though. What do I do now? How do I make changes?

12/2/05 — I'm numb. I drag myself out of bed. When someone asks me how I am I can't hold in my sadness. When I saw J. today he hugged me and his touch felt so wrong.

2/1/05 — J. and I are done. For good. I tried to see if there was hope for us, but there isn't. He's him. I'm me. We don't mesh. He called and I told him it's over, no I don't want to get back. I'm bitter, hurt, angry. He said I have a problem and should look into it. **** him. One of these days he'll stop hurting me and there will be someone so spectacular out there for me.

6/22/05 — I'm quite content. C. is amazing. We've slept next to each other for close to two weeks straight. There are countless things I like about him. He's athletic. hard worker. funny. ambitious. he makes plenty of time for me. his kisses. his compliments. his friends/family. he's a country boy who doesn't act like a super star. he reads my articles. he looks at me adoringly. he scoops me up. he gets nervous around me. he wants me around him all the time. he's never too busy for me. i don't need to push him to achieve his goals. and if all that wasn't enough — we have matching freckles.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Morals don't change


My journey to Catholicism left me enlightened yesterday. Class was about how Jesus left behind a community of consistent truth. "QUE?" you might say. Trust me, I know it's not your typical odd couple topic, so give me a second.

C. summed it up when I told him about the lesson:

" 'Morals don't change,' is what my dad always said."


"GULP!" went the girl who isn't baptized, who drinks and says the F word like it's her job, who just recently decided to read the Bible and figure things out for herself, instead of becoming the person her parents wanted her to be.

"Gulp" because no one had summed morality up so simply before.

"Gulp" because I was going to have to start using the word "fudge" a lot more.

"Gulp" because my "times have changed" argument seems more like it should be written down on notebook paper and turned into the school secretary.

Weeping

I called him.
Crying.

But he instantly made me feel better when he said:
"I'm sorry babe, try and enjoy your day still... we'll deal with it when you get home."

It wasn't the "I'm sorry."
Or even the gentle attempt at calming me down.

It was simply the "We" part.

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

love is no assignment for chickens


“When did all this start?” my roommate questioned me after our third night of WE Go Bridal marathons.
“I don’t know exactly,” I answered truthfully and began to scratch my brain. "My wedding fixation just happened."
“I bet it was when you met C.,” she said.
Hmmm, I thought.
"Yes," I buzzed. "You're right."

Actually, a year into my relationship with C., I had my first wedding thought. That's when I became determined to capture other people’s special day on my new NIKON. I was 100 percent certain I was meant to be a wedding photographer. It just hit me one day.

But there was one problemo. I didn't know squat about the business. That's when I became an assistant photog.

I was working one wedding in particular, when my dream changed. During the first dance, the couple had skipped the choreographed crap and forgot the 150 guest surrounding them. Lost in the moment, they sang the lyrics to their favorite love song to each other. Behind my lens, I felt wetness on my cheeks.

It wasn’t hard to imagine C. holding me, singing to me like that. It just clicked. I was ready for him, I was ready to make our moment.

From then on, I found myself planning my own first dance with C.

Wanting to be married isn't the disease that Chrissie makes it out to be. Not when you stop doubting that your life as a single, care-free chick could never compare to your future as the wife of a man who is so gentle, handsome and wholesome, and role as mother hen.

There isn’t a vaccine for what I have and I would never want one if there was.

Give me immunity


If your wedding is contagious, then I'm getting a vaccination.

We've all seen it happen, one girl gets engaged, and all of her friends soon follow.

But if a "wedding buzz" is the new bug that's going around...
Then I'm ready for my vaccine, (even though I hate needles).

Because I can't help but think that she wants to get married because you did, and that competition is not the basis for a long, healthy marriage.

It's the foundation for a flailing friendship.

So if you're suffering from the tell-all symptoms:
-dreams of a white dresses
-an attitude problem
-and an uncanny ability to forget where those diamonds came from.

I'll roll up my own sleeve, close my eyes and await my vaccination.

Because the pinch of that needle will be fleeting.
But a lifetime based on the rush of competition, will not.

Monday, February 18, 2008

6 days and ticking

Till my family comes to visit.

C. decided it would be nice to invite the family down to his place — an adorable house that fits two comfortably. At first, I thought, what a wonderful idea. But now I'm reliving that moment over and over in my head, trying to change the words that came out of my mouth to: WHAT ARE YOU NUTS?

It's not like the summer, when we could play tag and bbq dogs on the grill. No. It's winter. It's muddy and we just got a new rug.

C.'s never had four small children coloring on his hardwood floors before. C. doesn't even own crayons. This should be interesting...

10 points and counting...

Either my luck has run out, or I'm just not as cute as I used to be.

I'd say I've been pulled over, about 10 times.

Plenty of check points, a few breathalyzers, numerous "expired inspection" situations, and the occasional issue of speeding.

I got out of a 55 in a 40 and no inspection with a "warning."
I got out of that same no inspection 3 more times with more warnings before finally getting a ticket.
I got out of ANOTHER no inspection by smiling and saying "I can't afford to fix the windshield."

And then something changed.
Maybe it was the 8 lb weight gain, maybe it was hitting my "mid-20s" instead of my early ones, or maybe I'm just not as friendly as I used to be.

Because the last two encounters I've had with police ended with a lot less flirting and a lot more tickets.

2 to be exact.
Worth a whopping 10 points on my as-of-today pristine driving record.

And while I think I've handled all the situations in the same way, with poise and respect, the outcome seems highly unpredictable.

And so I'm just not sure of my defense for tomorrow's court date...
And perhaps more importantly... what I should wear.

Friday, February 15, 2008

Breaking up is hard to do... well.


Breaking someone's heart isn't supposed to be easy, and we can only hope that if our loved one wants to start a new life, that they end the one we shared with respect and tact.

But just like Carrie's "Post-it" note from Burger in SATC proves, people don't always take our feelings into consideration when they can only think of getting away and moving on.

While the POST-IT "I'm sorry, I can't, don't hate me" might take the cake for most insensitive mini-letter, there are some new and UN-improved ways men and women are ending their relationships sans emotion.

1. Via Email: I can personally attest to this one, I believe that "technically" I was the email-break-er-upper, but the response was also via email... and so the end of a 3 year relationship took place between Hotmail and Gmail, both of whom eventually lived happily ever after (with other people).

2. Disappearing Act: After days, weeks, months of dating, POOF!" Suddenly, "I'm going out for a jog," entails NEVER COMING BACK. (The BEST is when they disappear on your Birthday).

3. Myspace: It's the "Place to end many friendships and relationships." Rather than send a private message, a few people choose to leave "break up comments." Or the less obvious and equally awful, change of status from "in a relationship" to "single."

4. Moving: Forget just going out for coffee without returning, how about packing up your belongings and CHANGING TOWNS! (This scenario seems necessary only when a restraining order is involved).

5. Text Messaging: It's inappropriate for "making dates" and it's inappropriate for canceling them as well. Even worse though, is the "I can't do this anymore" message received at 3 a.m."


And finally, CHRISSIE'S PICK FOR WORST WAY TO BREAK UP WITH SOMEONE:
While you're ON vacation: You're about 6 hours from home and you realize, "I can't do this anymore." Unforutnately, if you SAY THIS WHILE YOU'RE STILL IN PENNSYLVANIA then you'll have to suffer the long ride home listening to the sobs of your partner rather than your favorite songs. Save the "we're over" for when you get home, or you may end up taking the bus and seeing all your clothes lost on the thruway.






"The worst way he/she broke up with me was when ____________________."

A night of the best

The ONLY thing bad about my Valentine's Day date last night is the way I feel this morning. Nothing a few Advils can't fix....

When C. and I arrived to our dining destination, we discovered a wine pairing menu that was too delectable to turn down. I had mini wontons and fresh mix greens with a perfectly bubbly glass of champagne. Sushi tuna rolls with chardonnay. A perfectly pink dainty fillet with a fruity Zinfandel and finally, The Course. Chocolate covered heaven complimented by a dessert wine that was purely sensual, magical and fantastical.

The meals came out slow, so we had lots of time to talk and being the shy girl I am, I told him how he carries my heart, that he's never without it. His smile wrapped around his face, and everything just felt perfect. If I could measure my heart, I think it grew just sitting there looking at that incredibly handsome man.

Now, let me tell you about our gift exchange. C. got me this along with this! He knows I love tea and I made him promise just to take me out to dinner. So his thoughtful extra was splendid.

I wrote him a cheesy poem, and when he made me read it to him while we held each other in bed, my tears were everywhere. It was the kinda cry that is uncontrollable, and it makes you giggle, and he giggles too. And you have to ice your cheeks, if he'd just let go of you for a second...

The poem went like this:

Fallen for you
When our eyes first met
Not knowing anything at all
About you yet

Through your shyness I found
My strength that night
And I asked your age
A move that proved right

We talked for a moment
And you gave me your card
To leave your side
I found very hard

Your friend called you names
But I didn’t stir
When our lips found each other
The rest was a blur

I woke up happy
It would happen a lot
I reached for the phone
And lost my train of thought

When you didn’t call
I thought you were cruel
But it turns out
You were actually a fool

The message at work
Came through quite clear
And off to Torches we went
After my death came near

The food was delicious
But the kiss was the best
While my dog attacked you
His teeth did not rest

That date was the first
Of many to come
That made my heart flutter
Like a soft drum

You let me know
The person you are
Something as special
As a shooting star

My wish came true
My prayers to God too
The man of dreams
That’s definitely you

How lucky I am
To know you’re all mine
To never question
Till the end of our time

I want you to know
To never doubt
That I am your girl
I will never bale out

Millbrook is my home
You are my life
And I can’t wait for you
To make me your wife

That day could be soon
It could be near
And not for one second
Will I feel any fear

Not for one moment
Will I set these lips down
I want nothing more
Than to be in that gown

And to shout to the world
How you’re everything to me
And show them that
I am your sweet pea

So today is just a day
Like all the rest
When I know in my heart
That I have the best

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Blood chocolates

I should trade in my SUV before I go spouting off about fair trade, child labor, conflict-free diamonds and chemical roses. I = hypocrite. Does it matter that I feel bad?

With that said, let me warn you: If you don't want to feel guilty when your man shows up with a dozen exotic flowers flown in from PERU, well then don't and don't read anymore. And definitely don't go to this site!

But, if you want another reason to feel horrible remorse while devouring that box of Valentine's Day chocolates, then continue on this blog journey.

I found this YouTube video of child slaves making our chocolate candies. A story that's so similar to Blood Diamonds. Sad.

Just because SHE's wearing flats, doesn't mean I will


Last year, a week after the big Valentine's Day snowstorm, my two favorite girls and I decided to meet for a drink at Mahoney's.

It was early and we planned on some girl time and catching up...

But as we walked in, we were greeted much too warmly by a young woman who thrust folded white papers at each of us and said "Welcome ladies! Here are your menus!"

Yummy, I thought... Free Food!!!

But when I perused my menu, I realized... it wasn't your typical description of steak and poultry.
It was a MEN-U...
Apparently, our dear friend "Mahoney" was serving up meat with a large side of desperation.

We were in all our glory, Mahoney's had gone from our figurative "Meat Market" to a literal "Meet Market," fully stocked with more than 30 men, sporting numbers rather than name tags.

I loved every minute of it.
This "Meet Market" seemed more honest than any bar I'd been to.
Because it was obvious why these guys were there... it was QUITE apparent what they were looking for (the horribly-written bios found within our MEN-Us illustrated it perfectly).

I was approached by one guy in particular who we'll call number 13 (I'm terrible with names... and I left with his number and his number so it works).

He was cute.
He was "looking."
He was mildly entertaining.
He had a job.

And he was short as hell.

I had ALMOST decided that my "taste" in men wasn't that important.

If you can't find your favorite dish on the MEN-U... you substitute.
If you want steak but they only serve ground beef... you buy the burger.

Well, if you're STARVING you do.

My friend nudged me on by saying, "Well, you said you wanted to start wearing flats."

And although this is true, that I'm interested to see what life looks like from my actual height of 5'2... I don't want to HAVE to wear flats... any more than I want that dried up slab of beef instead of the fllet.

I like steak.
I like tall guys.

I left the Mahoney's Meet Market with 2 numbers in my cell phone, 2 numbers worn around my neck and a promise to myself.

I will not, wear flats, for anyone.

Except maybe me...
Because it doesn't hurt that it makes those tall guys e v e n t a l l e r.

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Jog, Jiggle and Jump


I'm pissed.

I have been running since last spring, but when I look in the mirror I can't just accept me for me.

I see that my stomach is puffy. That my arms jiggle. That I can do magic tricks with my back fat and bunny rabbits. I don't see the results of a girl who runs, on concrete, or worse, on a broken treadmill, that could be mistaken for a big 'ol piece of doodie.

This is where I jump up and down and pout "WHY CAN'T I LOOK LIKE Jessica Simpson in Dukes of Hazards!!!! WHY DO I LOOK LIKE THIS THIS COMBINED WITH THIS!"

I'm serious ready to jump off this exercise kick into some stretchy pants. I could use some advice. Anyone know a good surgeon who takes charity cases?

Little white lies

We've all told them, whether to spare someone's feelings or to amp up a story that seems to be falling flat.

And since we're all occasionally guilty, it's hard to fault someone for just being "ordinary" in their tampering of the truth.

Little white lies can sometimes make us feel better (You don't look fat in that at all!)
And sometimes they just allow us to rid ourselves of shame, (OH, I broke up with HIM, not the other way around).

But I wonder...
Is there such a thing as too many white lies?
And do they lose their innocent qualities when they are more frequent?

I can't help but think that white lies aren't so harmless after all...

Perhaps their innocuous beginnings are just evidence of a storyteller, a person who peppers their life with inaccuracies... some damaging enough to cause a big black hole of deception.

Monday, February 11, 2008

His game evaluated


He was cute (David Beckham/Matt Damon cute).
And I wanted Her to see him. So, I did the logical thing. I pointed at him as he walked passed. "He's pretty cute, right?" I exclaimed, making her blush. He reacted as expected. "Me? Thanks!" he said with a smile that proved I was 100 percent accurate and my method was freaking brilliant.

Outside, he approached us, while the valet fetched her car. He started off saying his name (+) was Boris (-). That he was with his brother Roman, who shook our hands (+). They were both very Russian (-), but also had a Southern USA charm about them (+).

Boris made chitchat that was relevant (+) and pleasant (+). He said they usually hang out in Manhattan because: "We have good jobs" (-). Twice he mentioned his "good job." (- -). He kept flashing his key chain (maybe he had a BMW emblem on it) (-).

Boris complimented my dancing (+) and told me he couldn't help but notice that my stunning girlfriend was not dancing so much (++). She showed him her torturous heels and he flashed his white and blue leather boots — motorcycle riding boots. I gave him a (-) and SHE said they were a (++). Then he asked if we spoke Russian (-). To me, this seemed like a "Are you the kind I can bring home to mother?" question.

Now, at this is point in the convo, most guys fall flat on their face. I was expecting him to ask HER: "So, do you have a boyfriend?" bursting any hope that we women would meet someone with some finesse.

He didn't.

He said, "Well, my brother and I really enjoyed talking to you both. It's a shame we probably won't see you again."

It was an obvious, honest remark, which is why I liked it. If she was interested, she could have said, "I come here some Fridays" or "Can I give you my phone number?" She wasn't, so we just nodded and smiled, then slipped into the car.

For avoiding the clumsy denial Boris gets (++++), and my sincere hope that he meets someone who is interested in his "good job" and leather motorcycle boots. (There's always room for improvement.)

Don't Romance Me!

I hATe THat RoMaNCe hAs a SPecific DAte.
i HAte tHat RoMAnce haS a ColOr aNd A shaPE.
ANd ThaT EVeRyone ceLebRAtes oN tHe sAme DAy
for hOW DaRe thEy sTrAy!

To mE iT fEEls lIke rOManTic rApE.

I HAte tHAt MeN tHInk rOMance cOMes In A HEart-ShaPed bOx
Or CaN bE wRAppEd iN PInk ceLLopHane.
THat wOMen dREss In TrAShy LInGerie
sWIrl sTRawbERRies. sIp cHaMPagNe.
AnD aCt LIKe tHey aRe oN a lOVe CaMpaIgn

LeT'S nOt WinE aNd DinE tHis YEar
fLoWErs wIll nOt CaUse TeAr ShoWerS
INstEAd, lEt'S aVoiD tHe bED.
U pIcK tHe DAy, aNd We'LL iNvEnT OuR oWN wAY.
GReEt Me WIth a SpECial tREaT.
A kISs tO mAke mE sWEll
sOMeTHing THat No OnE wiLL eVer rEpEaT!

*** Is Valentine's Day Romantic? ***

Friday, February 8, 2008

How do you look at it?

It's easy to forget how beautiful winter is.


Playing on Flickr


A helpful hand
Originally uploaded by oddcoup
To sew or not to sew...

That's a simple question!

My Love

Your skin glows like the apple, blossoms big as the daisy in the purest hope of spring.
My heart follows your saxophone voice and leaps like a kitty at the whisper of your name.
The evening floats in on a great sparrow wing.
I am comforted by your undies that I carry into the twilight of coffeebeams and hold next to my elbow.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of wine.
As my lip falls from my thong, it reminds me of your ring.
In the quiet, I listen for the last bam! of the day.
My heated pinky toe leaps to my sweater. I wait in the moonlight for your secret school so that we may laugh as one, pinky toe to pinky toe, in search of the magnificient red and mystical camera of love.


Okay, Okay, I didn't come up with it on my own... I used this funky generator for my own amusement. Create your own poem and post it in the comments section below to see if you're a more clever poet than I am.

Thursday, February 7, 2008

Shiny Happy People w/ great hair

I love that:

1. the only reason I'm going to finish the book I started this month is because the male character reminds me of Matthew McConaughey. Not 1 page has been good, but this makes up for it.

2. i started hell, i mean work, at 7:45 a.m. today, which means when I walk out these doors, the sun will still be up. sorta like solar panels, i get my cheer from el sol.

3. using some of yesterday's inspiration, i successfully and semi-decently sewed my first set of pot holders last night — 3 of them in all. It's not that hard

4. i have a new blog to obsess about at lunch (and it's almost lunch). kudos Vanessa!

5. tomorrow, i have a date. it's sort of a double date with me and Mr. Hot Abs. Renay and Kate Hudson will tag along. Saturday i have a dancing date with the girls, after we get cheap haircuts and discuss my favorite subjects — cooking, crafting and weddings.

6. Did I mention my hair looks fabulous today?

Does life get better than this? seriously, I'm asking your opinion.

THINGS I HATE


1. Thursday: Simply because it's not Friday, Saturday or Sunday.

2. "Muffin Top:" The dough rises best in the winter, and I feel like I've been hibernating forever by the looks of my mid-section.

3. Money: Or, to be fair, the "lack of it."

4. My age: 25, soon to be 26... the fun is over, and now it's time to buy a house, make babies and succumb to society and its predictable expectations.

5. My eyes: For whatever reason, they're burning. Could be "allergies" (of what, the WINTER?!?!) or it could be the lack of sleep, since insomnia is my new hobby.

6. The feeling of never being finished: By the looks of it "life goes on." Every task ends and creates a hole that is quickly filled with another task. The feeling of being "caught up" is not something I'm recently familiar with.

7. My cat: Her need for affection is remnicsent of my own "needy" behavior. I think we both fancy ourselves independent, but are constantly proven wrong.

8. My cat: Yes, again, but this is more for the "surprise" she left me on the carpet when I got home from work last night and my inability to be mad at her at the sight of it. I think my response of "Oh no! Babies is sick!" proved at least one thing: I'll be a good mother.

9. I'm never alone, and when I am alone, I don't want to be.

10. Winter: Mostly because I have poor circulation and I'm forever cold. But also because of the lacking sunshine, the dry skin, the short days and long nights that don't involve any actual sleep.

Your turn.

Wednesday, February 6, 2008

The pigment of pain


My inspiration?

It has always been pain.

Not physical pain, but emotional conflict and discomfort.

Without it, I’m a poet without a muse.
A writer without a pen.
A woman without a man.

Because experience proves that only the wrong men can be a true inspiration.

They’re the foil to the beautiful things in life.
They’re the reason a good guy looks so scrumptious.
They're the answer to the question of "happily ever after."

An answer that can be painted in amusing and elaborate ways.

And so my canvas remains blank in times of happiness.

A white surface whose shine only reflects tiny textured bumps waiting to grab onto color, movement, and light.

Time and time again, with paintbrush in hand, I've attempted the masterpiece.

But how can a person find a palette that inspires pleasure… when the only pigment they can see is pain?

Tuesday, February 5, 2008

Show and Tell: What inspires you?

Boys and girls, today recess will be spent indoors, getting to know each other. I'll go first.

1.) My faith feeds my hunger for morality. Today is the first day of LENT. I sit here with a cross of ashes on my forehead (actually Father got a little excited and it's more like a blobumungus ). God is teaching me to be kind to cruelest, giving to the poorest and loving to the lost.

2.) Clever blogi stir up creativity. There are so many extraordinary writers, photogs and crafties out yonder. Like SouleMama Fish Mountain Mama and WeddingBee. YOU ladies, are the reasons why I rush home from Unexceptional Central to sew, fiddle with Photoshop, or pick a wedding color scheme.

3.) C. reminds me of the future. It's him that makes me daydream. That's when I smile the greatest, bulkiest grin in the world.

Now you go.

I unleash my creativity when _______________.

I read ___________ everyday.

Loving _____________ makes me a better person because ___________.

HEADLINE: Girlfriend strangles boyfriend, cop


The most jealous I've ever been was one past Halloween.

J. and I spent most of the night at opposite ends of the dive bar. I had my girlfriends and he had his brother, the bar manager, so cling ons we weren't.

(Hours later) coming back from the bathroom I brushed by him. I almost didn't notice there was a girl in a slutty cop costume pressing her leather bra against his Obi-won Kenobi cloak. But at the last second, I did a double take and sure enough, there was some bacon rubbing on my pig of a boyfriend.

Smoke came out of my Leia-inspired braided buns, but I didn't really loose it until I realized they were handcuffed ... together.

If I had had a real light saBer, I might have done something real bad, that involved lots of blood loss and donated MALE parts. Instead, my girlfriend, R. snatched me away from making a scene and we decided to go somewhere else. But, oh no, no. J. couldn't let it go. He followed us, arguing nonsense, like: "I didn't even realize I was handcuffed!"

HA!

On a busy Manhattan street, I hurled the foot-long plastic light saBer as hard as I could. It hit him in the chest and smashed on the ground.

So he did the adult thing, and broke up with me. Too bad his words packed less of a blow than my javelin toss.

It was messy, I admit. But isn't jealousy always?
----------------------------------------------------------
Here's your exercise for today:
If I caught my (boy/girl) friend handcuffed to a sexy stranger, I'd:

A) walk away like I didn't notice and try to forget it
B) ask if I could join in
C)__________________ (the possibilities are endless)

Monday, February 4, 2008

THINGS THAT MAKE CHRISSIE LYNN JEALOUS:


1. Touching: Go ahead, give him the kiss on the cheek if you've known him for 20 years, but if you used to have a crush on him, and think you can get away with snapping and unsnapping his shirt buttons in front of me, you have another thing coming.

2. EX-talk: Share the stories of "that time she freaked out and you decided you hated her." Do NOT mention her in a good light, ever. I don't want to know about "the apartment you used to live in," the "vacations you took," or the place that you met. She's better off a ghost in your past, than a pain in my present.

3. Women-who-make-you-laugh: I'm my own kind of funny, and I can be just as silly as the rest of them... but when that other woman really makes you let lose and enjoy yourself, laughing and joking around together, then my blue eyes turn green with envy.


Now it's your turn.
What makes you jealous?!?

Friday, February 1, 2008

Our second date

Being cautious, we met for a drink first so I would have my own car... and I discussed with my sister that I would only ride with him to the party if it proved to be "across the river in some far away town" and the ride alone would be "scarier than the ride with him."

The party, it turned out, was across the river in the far away town of Milton.
And his costume, was mistakenly left at his place, so we ventured off to get it.

Halfway into the projects I realized: I'd left my cell phone in my car.

No biggie, I was just with a man I'd known for a total of 10 hours that spanned 2 weeks.

He went searching for his costume, and what he emerged with, wasn't just the dollar store vest and eye-patch he'd told me about... but also a box of fake mustaches.

"What are all those mustaches for?" I asked.
"Disguises."
"Disguises?? What would you need a disguise for?"

Enter creepy response:


"I make movies."

I'd be lying if I didn't admit that for a split second...
I pictured myself tied up in a basement, with "Mr. Burt Reynold's mustache" making some perverse version of 'Saw IIX," casting me as the lead.

I excused myself to the bathroom... in hopes of coming to my senses and again realizing that I was only with this guy, because he DIDN'T seem creepy at all.

And just as I'd calmed myself down a wee bit, I gasped in horror.

There, on the window sill... was a knife.
Soaked in blood.

I wanted to RUN out of there, deep into the city of Poughkeepsie, screaming for help and in search of my cell phone.

But just before I bolted, I came to my senses:
That bloody knife, was made of paper.

Perhaps it was some sort of "prop" for his movie. Either way, I had to ask.

"So what's the deal with the paper knife on your window sill?"
"Oh, oh... that's just a bookmark."

Oh, okay, good enough. Just a bookmark. At least he reads!!!
----------------------------------------
We'll leave out the part where the date ended with me sleeping in an attic, on an air mattress (fully clothed) with Mr. Movie-Maker.

And as always we'll leave out the part where I continued to date him.






Fill in the blank:
My date started off wrong when __________________________.